Hall of Mirrors
by jespah
Summary: Star Trek Mirror Universe stories from various eras.
1. 1-That's Not My Name

"Misty?"

"No."

"Monica?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Hmm." The captain thought for a moment. The brunette in front of him was hot, hotter than hot. It was afterwards and they were still touching each other, still kind of picking at each other's bodies. His woman – the official Captain's Woman – wouldn't be back in quarters for hours.

"Well?" asked the smoking hot Science department lieutenant. Her hand reached down, and long, slightly curved fingernails with scarlet polish threatened to do a little damage to a rather sensitive area.

"What will you give me if I get it right?" asked the captain.

"I'll think it over," she said, with a toss of her hair.

There was a communications chime. They both ignored it.

"Mona."

" _Mona_?"

"No, no, no," said the captain, "that's just a description of you. With a slight accent."

"You're funny," she said, eyes narrowing to almost slits. "Guess again."

"Huh." She was short and curvy – a far cry from the official Captain's Woman, who was a willowy blonde.

"C'mon," she beckoned invitingly, arms at her sides, pressing in and making everything look even perkier. "Guess again."

"Enough guessing," He said, "time for action."

He was more than ready to go again. She looked past him as they coupled, straight at the picture of Terra with a sword through it, painted on the doors of his quarters. The doors swished open and the captain's Vulcan first officer walked in on them. He stroked his goateed chin once and then walked out.

This did not faze the captain, who continued what he was doing anyway. When he was done, he rolled to the side. "That was good," he praised her, "Meghan."

"Not even close," she said.

"Marnie?"

"A lovely name, but, alas, not mine."

"Missy?"

"What am I, a Rottweiler?"

"Just a thought," he said. He got up and donned his clothes, resheathing a dagger. "I've got to get back to the Bridge."

"How do you know that?" she asked, lying back, naked.

"He wouldn't have come in if I wasn't needed. You'll need to clear out."

She just nodded. He departed.

She grabbed her clothes and then thought better of things. She opened a closet and found the official Captain's Woman's things. There was, oddly, a jumpsuit; much like had been worn on the old _NX-01_ however many decades before. She took it out. "I bet this makes you look like a garage mechanic. Still, it is useful."

She put it on and got her dagger. The jumpsuit was far too long so she rolled the pant legs in order to avoid tripping. She had to be able to move easily.

The doors swished open, and it was the official Captain's Woman. "Marlena Moreau!" she exclaimed, and that was the last thing that Janice Rand ever said.

Moreau was swift and certain with the dagger. She then defaced the dead woman. She dragged the body onto the bed, all the better for Kirk to find it.

She peeled off the bloodied jumpsuit and stuffed it into the disposer, and then set the device to incinerate the incriminating garment. She wiped off her dagger with one of the dead woman's dresses and then it, too, was incinerated in the disposer. A quick shower eliminated any remaining evidence. She got her own clothes on and resheathed her own dagger. She hightailed it out of there.

Marlena had risen through the ranks, giving her favors to John Kyle, the transporter chief, and then Ensign Pavel Chekhov – he had been a wild one. And then she'd dallied with Montgomery Scott, the Chief Engineer. Every move was calculated. Every act was designed to get her exactly where she knew she would be in, perhaps, a week.

Kirk would find the ruined body. He would torture one or two of his crew members – there was always someone nearby who could be pushed to take the fall. The Agony Booth would have a few customers. She would hang back and spend her time with Doctor McCoy. A quickie would make the old fellow lie and say that she'd been in a Sick Bay lab while the deed was done. Her alibi could be readily secured.

And then, once Kirk was ready to go again – for Marlena knew that lust never failed James T. Kirk, she would be there. And she would take her rightful place as the _Enterprise's_ Captain's Woman.


	2. 2-It Had to Be You

It had to be _you_ , he thought as he checked his PADD.

There was no one else who had motive, opportunity and the means. But he'd have to confirm.

She was laying there, blonde hair askew, uniform torn, face mangled beyond recognition. It was such a pity. She had been a beautiful woman. There was no doubt of that. But now she was a corpse.

He got up, out of the crouched position he'd been in for a while. His knees creaked a little. He wasn't getting any younger. That much was obvious. "Who was she?" he asked.

"She was the captain's, uh, friend," snickered a crewman.

"You mean the Captain's Woman," he said, "why won't anyone answer me?"

"No one cares about justice here," snarled another crewman, "what makes you think it matters anyway? The chick is dead; long live the new chick, the one with brown hair! The only problem with this is the waste of perfectly good p–"

He stopped in mid-sentence as the captain appeared. The crewmen sprang to attention. Everyone did, except for the investigator.

"I'm Stan Katsulas," the investigator said, extending a hand.

The captain ignored him. "Get that body outta here."

"Captain!" Katsulas exclaimed, "The Emperor himself told me to investigate!"

"And I'm not denying that. But I've got bigger fish to fry. You'll do your investigating in the, uh, here; we'll get the body into where you'll be staying. You can spend some quality time with her." He smirked.

"This is highly irregular! You cannot block this investigation in any way!"

"I'll run my ship the way I want to!" thundered the captain. "And Emperor's orders or no, that means I can clear away a body anyway I damned well please. Just be happy I'm not flushing her out of an airlock, or out with the debris." The unstated predicate to that was – _and_ _you with her_.

"Captain!" Katsulas was getting angry. For a man in the Mirror Universe – the other side of the proverbial pond – he had the patience of a saint, but it was wearing thin.

"Something you needed to tell me?" the captain inquired. They walked together as a crewman, who had slung the body over his shoulders like a sack of pretty potatoes, stepped behind them.

"You may be wondering why I'm here."

"A little." Okay, _a lot_ , but the captain was not about to tell the investigator that much.

"The victim – she had a homing chip implanted in her at birth. At the time of her death – by any means, even old age – the chip is activated. And the closest investigator is beamed to the chip's coordinates and an investigation is begun."

"And you were the closest investigator, eh Katsulas?"

"That's correct." And the unspoken added sentence was – _I'm the lucky one._

"Don't interfere with how I run my ship."

"I have no intention of doing so. You will allow me to run my investigation as I see fit, though, which includes allowing out all communications, without monitoring or scrambling," Katsulas took a breath, "And I must tell you, Captain, if I, too, meet my end here, there will be another investigator called, for I have the same kind of homing chip. And on and on – the Emperor will, undoubtedly, find it all rather tiresome. And then you'll be scrubbing plasma conduits – that is, if the Emperor lets you live at all."

"I suppose I can understand why you would be micro chipped like a dog, but why her?" asked the captain, "Ah, here we are."

"She was the Emperor's niece."

"But the Emperor is Asian."

"By marriage, she was his niece," and a bit more, but that was before she'd gotten onto the _ISS NCC-1701_. Katsulas didn't see the need to elaborate further.

"I see. Put the body, uh, there." The captain said, and the crewman tossed her onto a desk.

"Send in the new Captain's Woman," Katsulas said, "I want to talk to her."

"She's busy," said the captain.

"She's not too busy for this. Remember, chips and communications, Captain."

A few minutes later, the new Captain's Woman came in. She was a shapely brunette, and a bit short. "You must be Marlena Moreau," said Katsulas.

"And you must be that tiresome bore of an investigator."

"I know it was you," said Katsulas.

"You don't know anything."

"Sure I do. The phaser shot came from below – the dead woman was taller than you are. And you shot her in the face – clearly an act intended to mar her beauty, for you could have dispatched her far more quickly if you'd hit her in the abdomen. Or if you'd set the phaser on a higher setting, hell, you could have vaporized the body. But that wasn't your intention – you _wanted_ her mangled body to be found by Kirk. And then you moved in."

"What is it you want?" Marlena tried not to let a microbe of fear creep into her voice, but she knew that she could be scrubbing plasma conduits, or worse.

"An exchange: I scratch your back, and you," he paused for a second, "scratch mine."

She looked at him with some disgust. It wasn't that she hadn't done such things before. But he was old, and so ugly! She didn't love Jim, but at least he was good to look at. "What are you proposing?" she made her voice purr. Maybe just a quickie would take care of things.

"You will work for me."

"Work?"

"Yes. You are in and closer to Captain Kirk than anyone else – even closer than Mister Spock. Kirk is dangerous and impulsive. You will feed me information on his movements and his plans."

"And in exchange for this, what do I get?" she asked. This would be, she figured, easier than doing the old guy. _Ugh_.

"I let you stay here, and out of Gemara Prison."

"I see. Let me think it over."

"Don't take too long," Katsulas warned her, "you'll have to be micro chipped, too, of course."

"And become disfigured?"

"Not at all. You saw her," he indicated the body, "Yeoman Janice Rand was a lot of things, but disfigured was not one of them."

"I'll, I'll think it over," Marlena said, and walked out.

Stan Katsulas watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she sauntered down the hall. "Sometimes, I really love this job," he said to himself.


End file.
